Magical Medicine
by fanficsofclare
Summary: Dr. John Watson has to look after Sherlock Holmes after Sherlock is diagnosed. (Potterlock) John is a wizard.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"Hello Mrs Hudsen. What can I do for you today? Is your hip acting up again?" Doctor John asked, addressing his first patient for the day.

"Yes, it's just a little twinge every now and then." She said, smiling.

It was more than a twinge. The skelegrow was still working on rebuilding her hip bone marrow. It must be quite painful at times. According to Mrs Hudsen, she had had a metal hip replacement last week when in fact she had a glass of skelegrow and some powerful pain killers. The pain killers would have worn off by then and the skelegrow would be finished soon.

"I'll give you a prescription for painkillers. The twinging should be gone by next week." John said, scribbling on the prescription paper with his typical doctor handwriting. There was no harm in using muggle treatment every now and then.

Mrs Hudsen left for the pharmacy and John buzzed in his assistant.

"Sarah, when is my next appointment?"

"2:30. Oh, there's an owl waiting for you in the west wing owlary." Sarah said, poking her head round the door.

John wandered to the nearest lift and tapped the controls with his wand, which he usually hid in his deep pocket. The buttons changed. He pressed the one that said West Wing Owlary (previously the 5th floor) and the lift sped off vertically instead of horizontally.

The doors opened revealing a room, filled with owls and letters. John recognised the owl the straight away, holding his hand out for it to rest on.

"Hey Gillyweed. I wander what Professor Longbottom has sent me." John took the thick parcel from Gillyweeds beak and gave the owl a soft stroke.

He sat on the ground, looking at the Hogwarts seal. He brought is thumb across it, feeling the bumps and the shape of it. He tore the paper, rather than destroying the beautiful seal. He took out a small box wrapped in newspaper and a letter.

_Dear Dr. John Watson_

_I fully regret having to tell you that, Professor Neville Longbottom, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, unfortunately passed away. I understand he was your favourite professor during your time at Hogwarts and this news may come very painfully and sudden. I want you to know his death was peaceful and timely. He did not suffer. _

_He always used to tell me what a marvellous student you were. I do know you were his favourite of all the students that he oversaw. You were very special to him. _

_I am also writing to inform you that Professor Longbottom left you a box (enclosed) in his will. _

_My condolences _

_Luna Longbottom_

John put the letter down, and lent back against the wall. Dead? He can't be. No. John wouldn't accept it. He wouldn't open the box, fearful for unwelcome memories to return. He sat there, on the cold floor and let the tears fall freely from his eyes. He stood slowly, legs like jelly. Without a thought, he apparated home.


	2. Chapter 2

"John, you have a visitor." Sarah called out. John ignored her. He didn't want to see anyone.  
The door opened and his visitor came in.

"John, I came to see how you were." Greg said, sitting down in the seat.

"I'm fine." John scoffed. He wasn't. Puffy red eyes. He'd been crying.

"I know he was your favourite professor at Hogwarts. He was mine too. I know he wouldn't want you slouching around. You've cancelled on three patients who seriously need you. Will you at least see the next one?" Greg pleaded, desperate for his friend to be happy again.  
John didn't answer. Just stared blankly at the wall. A beige colour.  
"I'll send them in." Greg said, quietly slipping out the door.  
John sat in silence again, waiting awkwardly for his next patient to arrive.  
There was a soft knock on the door.  
"Come in." John said.  
The door was pushed in.  
"Hello, Dr Watson." A man strode in, standing in front of the desk, ignoring the seat. He was pale, especially against the beige wall. Dark almost black curls. Piercing eyes. Green? Blue? Or both? John couldn't tell. Sculpted face.  
"Hello, please take a seat." John motioned to the seat.  
"I'd rather stand if you don't mind. I hate hospital chairs." The man said, glancing angrily at the furniture.  
"Okay, what seems to be the problem?" John asked, trying to push Professor Longbottom out of his mind.  
"Well, personally I know there is nothing wrong with me. But my friend insist I should be checked out. She reckons I'm having a severe reaction to the nicotine patches." He said, sourly.  
"Trying to quit smoking?" John asked, standing up.  
"Obviously. Also giving up cocaine." They added.  
"Oh, okay. How often do you wear the nicotine patches?" John continued, a bit taken aback at the man's honesty.  
"Three a day."  
"How long are the average intervals between each patch?" John asked.  
Instead of explaining, the man unbuttoned his sleeve and pulled it up as far as it went (half way up his toned biceps) showing three nicotine patches on his arm.  
"I see. Now that may explain if you are suffering from any symptoms. Do you mind?" John motioned to the patches.  
"Go ahead."  
John took off two patches. The patient didn't even flinch.  
"So, can I just get some pills and get out of here?"  
"Okay... I'm afraid we're going to have run some tests. I'll need you to come back tomorrow." John said.  
"Dull."  
"Excuse me?" John huffed.  
"Sorry, are you partially deff? And by the way, how's your sister? She's not really into the whole family business? Not got the medical skill?"  
"Skill. You could say that." Harriet was a squib. "And err how did you know that?"  
"I don't know I notice. On my way in a noticed a board, listing the staff register in case of emergencies. I saw your father, Watson Sr. Watson Jr, which must be you and your mother, Betty. No sister, yet you do have one. Harriet? Ahh yes. Harriet Watson, the one who didn't have the talent. Heard your secretary on the phone talking to 'Harry'. Hospital phones are always so loud. She sounded very drunk and upset. Kept mentioning Clara. Some sort of domestic. Asked to see her brother, you. Female voice. Harriet."  
"Wow. I err, I should probably call her." John stammered.  
The man turned sharply on his heel and left.  
John ran after him.  
"Wait, you need to come back tomorrow. I don't even know your name. I need it for the records."  
"Sherlock Holmes." He called out without turning to face John.  
"Sorry about him. He's always so terribly behaved at hospitals. Reminds him of rehab. Terribly place."  
"Sorry. Who are you?" John turned to look at the woman in white shoving a hand in his face. He awkwardly shook it.  
"Sherlocks 'friend' as he calls me. Irene. I'll make sure he comes into tomorrow for his tests. I'm so very worried about him." She said, pursing her red painted lips. She turned and walked after her 'friend', high heels echoed down the hall.  
"John, Harriet called. Something happened with Clara. You should speak to her. On the phone, an owl won't be good enough this time." Sarah said as John passed her desk.  
"I will, thanks for telling me."


	3. Chapter 3

"Clara didn't deserve you." John said down the phone.  
"Yes yes I know. Sarah told me about Professor Longbottom. I'm sorry John." Harry said.  
"It's not your fault."  
"How are you?"  
"I'm fine." John said through gritted teeth. "I have to go now, my patient has arrived." He hung up and slid the phone away from him on his desk.  
"Ah, Sherlock. I'm surprised you even came." John said, clapping his hands together.  
"Yes yes, can we just get these pointless tests over with so I can leave. I have crimes to solve." Sherlock snarled.  
"Pointless?"  
"There's nothing wrong with me?"  
"Well, that's what you're here to check."  
John led Sherlock out of his office to the lab, passing Irene in the hall.  
"Hi Sherlock." She smirked, blowing him a kiss. As John and Sherlock turned a corner, Sherlock groaned.  
"Irene is annoying." He grumbled. John laughed, earning a glare from Sherlock.  
"Are you two not together?" John asked.  
"She thinks so. Not really my area." Sherlock said, dismissively.  
"Your area? Got a boyfriend then? Which is fine." John stammered, opening the test room with a five digit code.  
"I know it's fine." Not a no, not a yes.  
"Remove your shirt." John said, putting on gloves.  
Sherlock glared at him.  
"Please." John said, half sarcastically.  
Sherlock slowly unbuttoned his purple shirt, letting it rest on his shoulders.  
"All the way."  
He pulled the shirt off, folded it and placed it on the table.  
John went over to examine for any physical side effects of the nicotine patches.  
Sherlocks right arm (the one John had not seen yet) was covered in tiny holes. He traced his finger over them.  
"Good for you." He said, walking back to get a stethoscope.  
"What is?"  
"For kicking your cocaine addiction. Looks like you used to take a lot."  
Silence, except for the drawer closing.  
John put the buds in his ears and held the flat surface of the stethoscope onto Sherlocks chest.  
"Normal."  
John reached for a clean empty syringe.  
"I'm going to take some blood. You may feel a slight pinch."  
"No I won't."  
John slowly pushed the syringe into Sherlocks left arm (free of nicotine patches).  
Sherlock didn't flinch. In fact, he arched his back slightly as if in pleasure.  
Once the syringe was filled with blood, John removed it and quickly put a small cotton square over the hole.  
"Hold this." John said. He waiting until Sherlocks fingers brushed against his, so the cotton stayed firmly in place.  
John took the syringe over to the counter and emptied the blood into a container, which he sealed and labeled 'Sherlock Holmes'.  
"Okay, I'll do some blood tests and call you back in for further testing is needed." John said, removing the cotton and quickly sticking a plaster down.  
John picked up the phone and dialled Sarah's work phone.  
"Hi Sarah, could you have forms ready for Mr Holmes to fill in. Thank you." He hung up.  
"Okay, I'll take you back." John said, waiting for Sherlock to button up his shirt before opening the door.  
They waked in silence.  
"Ah, Sherlock. We must go. Mycroft called. Doctor, I filled out his forms to save time." Irene said, taking Sherlocks hand and dragging him away.  
"Bye." John called after him.  
He looked at the forms, knowing it would have been done wrong.  
Name, contact and address was filled out correctly, at least John hoped they were. There was no way of telling just yet if Irene ha actually put Sherlocks real address and phone number down.  
Under Sex (gender) was written 'very good'. John cringed.  
Under addition comments was a very bold 'BACK OFF'  
John got another form and rewrote the important stuff.


	4. Chapter 4

John sat up in bed, breathing heavily. Sweating. The nightmare.  
He's in a forest, somewhere he's been before but he can't recognise it. Some else is there, a friend. Then John screams and wakes up.  
John felt under the pillow, there it is. His wand.  
"Expecto Patronum." He whispered, light coming out in wisps. A silver hedgehog floated around, calming John.  
He could sleep with his patronus watching. He felt save.  
X  
John was woken by his alarm. 5:00 am. He vowed to get started on Sherlocks tests early as.  
John got up and quickly put on his clothes and left, locking the door. No time for breakfast, he would eat later. He passed the newspaper wrapped heirloom on his way out, refusing to open it.  
He went straight to the lab, not checking if Sarah was at her desk yet.  
Using his wand and some enchantment his father had taught him, John made a cup of tea while he set to work.  
The cup floated towards John, who was using a pipit to drop acid into a Petri dish of some of Sherlock's blood.

Bang! The door opened, Sherlock running in. Smash, John made the cup drop from its place in mid-air.

"Was that cup floating?" Sherlock asked, frozen in the door way.

"No." John scoffed. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm hiding from Irene." Sherlock muttered, closing the door and resting against it. John laughed.

"I hate her." Sherlock sighed.

"Me too, just sit down, I'm just doing your blood tests." John said, quickly mopping up the tea and carefully putting the pieces of cup in the bin.

X

After what seemed like days, actually only amounting to two and a half hours, John turned to Sherlock.

"I need to talk to you. You should come to my office. I'll make you some tea."

They walked down the hall in silence, the tension thick in the air.

John quickly prepared a cup of tea for Sherlock.

"You have a malignant brain tumour. We will need to run more tests to see if it's fatal."

"Oh,"

"If the tumour is attached to a vital part of the brain, we won't be able to remove it. We have people already working on a cure. You're going to have stay in one of our isolation rooms until further notice. I'm so sorry." John said, softly.

Sherlock sat in silence, not touching the tea in front of him.

"I would like you to go home and bring in some necessary items like clothes and toiletries and some entertainment like a book. When you come back, I'll help you get comfortable."

"Comfortable." Sherlock laughed dryly.

"I am so sorry. I'll call you a taxi."

"Come with me." Sherlock whispered.

"What?"

"Can you? Would you?"

"Is that what you want?" John asked.

"Not want. Need."

John nodded, leading out to the road. He hailed down a taxi.

"221B Baker Street." Sherlock said to the driver. Irene had put Pudding Lane on the form.

They rode in silence, until Sherlock started to ask questions.

"Why have you got a stick in your pocket?" He asked, pointing to John's shirt pocket.

Shit, John thought, he needed to think of something believable.

"I err have a dog." John said, unconvincingly.

"Really?" Sherlock said, with a voice that said 'no but really tell me the truth.'

"We're here." The driver said, pulling up and saving John from answering. John got out first and waved his 'wizard card' at the driver, who nodded knowingly.

"I was going to pay for the ride." Sherlock said, as the taxi pulled away. He unlocked the door.

"It's fine." John replied, walking in after Sherlock.

"Sherlock, is that you?" A female voice called from behind a second door.

"Shit, Irene. Don't tell her about the err…" Sherlock trailed off.

"Hello Irene." Sherlock called out.  
"Oh Sherlock I missed you." Irene said, coming round the corner. Naked.  
"Oh my god. What are you doing here John?" She said, not trying to cover herself up.  
"Could you put some clothes on?" John stammered.  
"Is there something you wish to tell me, Sherlock?" Irene asked, trying to pull him into a kiss. Was John invisible? Sherlock pushed her away.  
"I'm in love with John. I'm collecting my stuff and I'm leaving you to live with John." Sherlock said, stamping up the stairs. John looked shocked, was this happening, he thought.  
Irene screamed as if in agony.  
"Oh and yesterday, when I wouldn't fuck you, it was because I was saving myself for John." Sherlock shouted down, as he rummaged through his room for clothes.  
"How dare you steal him from me!" Irene screeched, lunging hands first at John.  
"Sherlock?" John yelled uncertainty.  
"Just hit her." Sherlock yelled.  
John could do one better. In a swift movement, he whipped his wand from his pocket.  
"A stick? Do you want to play fetch?" Irene snarled, hitting at John.  
"Stupify!" John whisper yelled, knocking Irene out. He quickly put his wand back in his pocket.  
"You done?" Sherlock asked, looking down from the second floor. He looked scared. Of Irene?  
"Yeah. I err punched her." John said. He wouldn't have if I had to, the spell was a nicer choice.  
"Let's go."  
"Just going to leave her there, naked?"  
"That's what she'd want, believe me. Let's get out of here." Sherlock took John hand, and dragged him out.  
Sherlock hailed a taxi.  
"I'm not gay." John said.  
"What?"  
"What you said, in there. Just, err setting boundaries. Not gay. I respect your life choices, just don't go trying to err put your dick up my ass." John stammered as they waited for a taxi to pull up.  
Sherlock laughed.  
"Don't laugh, I'm not gay."  
Sherlock laughed harder.  
"Okay, John, I believe you. You're not gay." Sherlock said between laughs.  
A taxi pulled up and John got in first, not helping with Sherlock's bags. He crossed his arms and looked out the window as the car began to move.  
"St Watsons Hospital please." Sherlock said, before turning to John.  
"Don't tell me you're mad now? I can't have my doctor in a hissy fit. You're the one going to be treating me, I sure don't want to piss off the person giving me injections for the next however many weeks, months, or years." Sherlock said.  
"I'm fine." John said. He seemed to be saying that a lot.  
The taxi pulled up and Sherlock paid the fare. John felt bad and brought one of Sherlock's bags for him. After all, he had cancer.  
"Here we are. Room 221. No B, but it will be home." John said, pushing the door in.  
"I'll be alone?" Sherlock asked, walking over to the only bed.  
"No. You'll have me." John smiled, putting the bag on the bed.  
"I've got to go to the lab, just push this if you need anything." John explained, showing Sherlock the 'call assist' button.  
"Can I come? To the lab. I used to do experiments. Before Irene moved in and cleaned everything away."  
John sighed and nodded, Sherlock walking after him like a loyal puppy.  
"Just, sit." John said, pushing a chair towards Sherlock.  
After two hours of silent concentration, Sherlock finally snapped.  
"Bored." Sherlock groaned, slouching in his seat.  
"Go back to your room then." John said.  
"Dull."  
"Are you always like this?"  
"Yes, he is." A new voice said. A man stood in the doorway.  
"You are?" John said, standing up straight.  
"Mycroft." Sherlock growled.  
"Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's older more mature brother. He didn't seem to mention the cancer to me yet."  
"I only just found out." Sherlock moaned.  
"I got you a mobile for a reason. Text me, next time. Anyway, I'm not here to quarrel with my sibling. John, I wish to speak to you in private." Mycroft smiled in a menacing manner.  
"How do you know my name? No, don't answer that." John said, following Mycroft out the door.  
"Don't break anything Sherlock." He called as the door closed.  
"Wizard." Mycroft snarled, poking John in the chest.  
"What?" John gulped.  
"I know. My father is a wizard. He attended the very school you did. Hogwarts. Although quite a few years before you. You may have heard the name. Draco Malfoy. Although many know him now as Draco Holmes. He fled from the war, changed his name and married a muggle. When Sherlock's Hogwarts letter arrived, father burnt it."  
"Did he burn yours as well?"  
Mycroft froze.  
"Fortunately, I didn't gain the stupid magic gene." He pursed his lips.  
"Be careful with him, he doesn't know his power yet. I want you to introduce him to your world, because he'll be leaving both soon thanks to his cancer."  
"Why me? Why can't you show him? Or your father? I'm just a doctor." John said.  
"He likes you." Mycroft smirked.  
"What? Okay fine, whatever, I'll show him. I'll get him a wand tomorrow and an owl or something." John huffed.  
"Thank you." Mycroft smiled sincerely.  
John walked back into the lab. Just for now, John would hide the magic, then, tomorrow, Sherlock could know.


End file.
